Random Musings Series/7


How are you doing folks? I hope life is treating you well. I hope your wounds are healing; and you are learning kindness. I hope the harshness of the world didn't strip you off your inner child. I hope the hurts are making you softer, more patient. I hope you the noble warrior in you hasn't thrown in the towel. Yet. Keep going peeps. Till the end of the line, remember?

And that brings us to one of my most favourite topics. Avengers Endgame. It is now streaming on Hotstar. How many did you re-watch it already? I did it only once so far. It is not easy to cry while being staffed with anti-depressants but they are my Avengers after all. The first time I remember leaving the theatre with red eyes and runny nose; not giving a shit about the curious eyes sliding past me. This time I cried again. I cried for Natasha Romanov. I cried for Hawkeye's murderous pain. I cried for Tony Stark. I cried for Steve Rogers. I howled like a wounded wolf when Frigga uttered her now iconic question to a broken beyond everything Thor, "The future hasn't been kind to you, has it?"

I follow the British royal family a lot on Instagram. I can't say I like the queen very much. I despise that coward son of her and his Cowmilla. But I admire the current generation quite a lot. Except Meghan Markle. And it's not racism for fuck's sake. I just can't help find her intolerably superficial. Anyways. There's one royal I am kind of obsessed with is, Princess Di. I guess I am not alone in this cult given the fact there are literally hundreds of pages dedicated to the memory of the 'People's Princess'. The more I read about her life the more I feel fascinated. I lay awake in my bed at night and keep staring at her beautiful, smiling face trying to fathom the depth of pain behind it. How much she suffered, I can only imagine partly. The blinding but invisible pain in my chest cavity could not possibly be more intense than hers. True, she was freaking rich. Had I been that rich I would have adopted twenty dogs by now and kept five servants to look after us. But then there's something so organic about pain that binds us all together. Be it the former Princess of Wales or the middle class obscure Indian girl. And maybe that's why people still love her so much. And even though dead, she will never really be gone.

I cry a lot while writing. I don't know why. It's hard to explain. I cry while writing irrespective of whatever is going on in my life. It feels quite cathartic though.

Listening to Anupam Roy's songs while being sad somehow takes things to another dimension. Even though sometimes I find his lyrics a tad bit annoying I do love his compositions. He makes me cry a lot. Even more than Arijit Singh, or Celine Dion.

There are times I feel really exhausted. I really wonder if I live for another thirty years or so what the fuck am I going to live for? What is my true purpose here? What the fuck am I doing? I envy the dead at times. I envy a particular person who died last month all of a sudden. Damn you, you lucky son of a gun. Damn you. Anyways, Rest in peace.

I have a certain karmic connection with the Himalayas. They keep coming back into my stories over and over again. They are in my good memories. They are there in the broken pieces of my life. No matter where I am, I have to go back. This strong pull in my heart is inescapable. My parents don't get it but it's my karmic debt. The gods of the mountains demand my audience from time to time. Who am I to defy their command? I am coming back, hold on dear gods.

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